The Mystery of Finding Sleep
by PiercedBlueCat
Summary: Sherlock trying to explain what sleep is like for him… and finally getting some.


**The Mystery of Finding Sleep **

_Summary: Sherlock trying to explain what sleep is like for him… and finally getting some._

_Since I suffer from a very active and restless mind I have real trouble sleeping and this is the result of another sleepless night. So I can imagine what reasons one might have to avoid sleep as long as possible and can understand very well why Sherlock doesn't voluntarily tries it. This is my thesis what it might feels like for him.  
Un-beta-ed!  
Would love to hear what you think and if anyone wants to do a beta let me know. I wanted to do this in British English, so I'd like to know about any spelling or grammar mistakes.  
Standard disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other mentioned characters belong to BBC and the guys who invented them. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal delight and improving my english, no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands __and no profit is being made__._

"So we're right where we were at the beginning..." John summed up Sherlock's endless analysis of things they had done to find some clues… any at all in fact. He had talked for over thirty minutes and John just listened and watched. Sherlock was hyperactive as usual, he was all but running through the flat. He moved fast from one end of the room to the other, repeating the facts and clues again and again. Signs of exhaustion were clearly visible on his face. The consultant was pale, he had dark rings under his eyes and his clothes looked at least one size to large on his slender frame. .. and as if he hadn't changed them in days. He in fact had worn them at least for the last 44 hours. John remembered vaguely that his shirt got dirty when they had crawled through an abandoned house the day before yesterday and Sherlock ended in rummaging through the dirt and dust in search for anything left by the last victim who they thought must have been held captive there for about three days prior to her murder.

But Sherlock had solved the case and turned to another one. Now he was exhausted, though far from ready to admit it.

Four cases in a row during the past twelve days had taken their toll. Usually Sherlock slept very little during a case, ate even less. During their first month living and working together John had thought Sherlock was just dramatizing things or was just being stubborn. He had observed how Sherlock had to force himself to try to sleep after another case, they had a discussion about sleeping habits. Sherlock had been in an opening-up-to-John-mood after two glasses of whiskey (though it was one of the few occasions where John ever saw him drink alcohol). Sherlock had sat in the middle of the sofa clutching his glass in both hands symmetrically while John had held a long tirade about how bad it was to deprive the body from nourishment and sleep for days.

Sherlock's face had a distant and tired and maybe even sad expression when he finally interrupted.

"I know all this, John…"

"Then why do you don't treat your body in a healthy way?"

"I tried… for years I tried… I tried to be 'normal'… went to bed, lay there awake for hours and sleep didn't came… for hours. It's torture. My mind feels like repeating every single little thing I sensed during the past week and moves in circles around every fact that had passed it in the last days…. All while I am in a full awake state… if I manage to drift into sleep it feels like downing, my lungs don't seem to want to breathe properly. I feel and see bad things there…. Did all my life.. it was already like this when I went to school the first year… and it has nothing to do with what I have seen during my detective work. It was like this almost all my life, people dying, suffering…. desperate, all the ugliest things that exist enfolding before my mind's eyes. I don't know how or why but I can't slip into sleep like normal people… and when I sleep I wake in the morning more exhausted than before I slept. Even more tired and mentally exhausted. I can't think properly for hours and it takes more than coffee to get rid of this mist of sleep that had gripped me. I have nightmares…. I have flashbacks to being near death since….. please, don't try to convince me to try to sleep when I don't want to.

John was a bit alarmed about the sudden intensity of the conversation and the facts he now was faced with. He stopped following the path of convincing his flatmate to change his sleeping patterns. This was Sherlock seriously opening up and he tried to understand every aspect of this insight he was granted. He sat down in the comforter frowning on the slight desperation that was evident in Sherlock's voice.

"You know there are several meds that might help you.." he started, but Sherlock interrupted him.

"I have tried a lot of them, not one working to my satisfaction, the few solutions that work either are worse than a three day long period of sleep deprivation, not available at the moment or are illegal." Sherlock had his hands clasped in front of him now, the glass empty on the table.

"I need exhaustion to slip into sleep fast, but there is a point beyond exhaustion that hinders sleep, you know, like when you are to tired to even sleep."

"Yeah…" John remembered that state, he had experienced it in Afghanistan after combat situations or nights in a warzone when alertness and adrenaline had kept him awake twenty hours after the situation had ended, though he was safe and sound it had been impossible to sleep, an unnerving state of fatigue.. he had even experienced it a few times back in London when his PTSD had been the worst.

"Additionally I can't relax… guess I never learned how to do that. I need a great deal of concentration to get into sleep."

John frowned, he had never heard _that_ before, not even thought it was possible. "I don't understand, usually not to concentrate is all people need to go to sleep."

"I know, but I can't. My mind goes into … maddening tailspins if not channeled or guided properly. Every thought is like a tree growing in a empty space in time-lapse, every single thought developing hundreds of conclusions, alternative paths of behaviour, related topics and event, drawing parallels to other patterns… then get lost in the endless space with myriads of those trees, endless and restless….growing into each other and threatening to get lost in the endless void of that mindspace. I need to concentrate on creating a small room with only emptiness in it… wipe it free from everything, which takes a horrendous act of discipline…. Like running around in a real empty room of unknown complex shape blindfolded, and when you feel a wall nearby (in this case the wall represents a thought) you need to stay away from it, but never stop running, if you do you might stumble into worse things than mere thoughts. While doing that I need to convince my body to relax, what needs thoughts, but on a different level, which is sometimes a problem to sort that out. I need to suppress all bodily perceptions and all sensory input, then try to relax a group of muscles a time… takes a while… and I don't like that feeling…" he pressed his lips to a thin line. "The slightest disturbance, drags me back to full alert, like unknown noises, another presence, my digestion, coldness… " he continued. "The problem is when there is a factor disturbing my concentration I am often not able to identify it, which would be necessary to eliminate it. I don't realize I am cold because I tried to suppress the skin's input before, I just drift in and out of semi-sleep and have problems to breathe."

"What kind of problems?"

"I don't know… rather odd to explain….. Once I fall asleep my body takes over breathing, as long as I am awake I control it but in that state it seems none feels responsible so it doesn't happen or goes out of control."

"Are you snoring?"

"Sometimes… but that's not the problem…"

"How do you know?"

"Because I feel the vibrations and hear the noise when I snore…. And need to blend them out then."

John raised his eyebrows. He realized once more having the awareness and skilled senses Sherlock had was a real hindrance in normal life.

"Sometimes it's like my lungs just don't try to get air in, like they forget. I came back to full awareness with a start then, fighting for air.

John frowned once more. He decided not to analyze this from a physician's point of view, there was so much that was different about Sherlock that the normal approach just wouldn't work, he had learned that by now, and it would frustrate the man even more if he'd try to. He then decided to see this from a friend's point of view.

"Do I have permission to try to help you in case situation arises that I think needs help and that I think would be worth a try?" he asked.

Sherlock was just about to pour another drink into his glass. Suspicious he looked up. "Like what?"

"I don't know, talk you through relaxation techniques, get you warm milk, a sleeping pill, find an object to hit you over the head with gently, whatever…."

Sherlock lifted his eyes to look at him with an odd mixtures of been-though-that, suspicion and amusement showing in his eyes and on his face.

"Feel free to try but listen to me please. Though I don't think it will work."

Back then John had dropped the topic but right now was one of the times he needed to try something. Sherlock was at the edge of collapse and he wanted it to happen in the safe environment of their flat.

"Sherlock, sit down, you look like falling over." He tried.

"Can't!" was the gruff reply. "I need to analyze this, maybe start an experiment."

"If you ask me - I know you won't - you need some rest to see the clues in a new perspective."

"I can't be distracted now!"

"You are stubborn, this is a cold case, people are dead for years, no reason to hurry."

"There might be a connection to the case Mycroft mentioned last June…"

"Yeah, but nothing to pressing."

Sherlock stood still for a second now, starting to sway slightly. John bite his lip and frowned.

"Sherlock?" he stood up, too. "You're ok?"

"I'm fine! Leave me alone! You're distracting me!" Sherlock's voice was rough and much deeper than normal… and John already knew this was not a good sign. Usually the consultant only sounded like this when he was on the verge of collapse or in severe pain. Alarmed he made a step towards him and grabbed his upper arm.

"Sit down, Sherlock!" His voice was in commanding mode. "Before you take a nosedive!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Sherlock stared at him angrily but grew paler by the minute. John looked into his eyes, holding his gaze. After a few seconds Sherlock blinked and broke eye-contact. John decided he had to mark this day with a red circle in his calendar - winning a staring contest with Sherlock Holmes!

He guided him towards his bedroom, Sherlock was not resisting and heavily sat down on his bed.

"Sherlock?" John tried but there was no answer. He stood in font of him, wondering where his med-kit was right now in case he needed it.

"Don't feel so good." Sherlock managed before lying down on his unmade bed.

"I wouldn't either after four nights without sleep, now will you listen to your body demanding rest and nourishment?"

"Can't eat now."

"For now it would be enough to sleep through the night." He switched on the small hi-fi unit and inserted a recording of gentle concert music. "Though if you don't eat tomorrow at all I might start an IV to get some nourishment into you!" he joked.

"Very funny… how am I supposed to sleep with that music?" Sherlock nagged.

"I thought it might be soothing."

"I don't need soothing!… Turn it off!"

John ignored him, switched off the light and headed for the door.

"Sleep!" he headed for the kitchen to make himself some tea and switched on the telly in a low volume, hoping Sherlock would just be too beat to get up again.

When he heard a low thud he headed for Sherlock's room again. He hadn't reached it when the sound system in the room started to play a concert that sounded like …. Well, it had velocity, and violins, and one might feel associated to a mixture of military marches and beautiful-hectic animal-spring-life with butterflies and tons of little birds. … and it was almost loud in volume. Thank god it was only shortly after 18:00 h!

John stood rooted to the spot, wondering if Sherlock was just trying to be annoying for a moment.

He decided to ignore it for now would be the best and sat down at his computer to write another entry to his blog.

Half an hour later the music faded out and stopped, the CD was finished.

John tip-toed to Sherlock's room and peered through the door. Sherlock was lying in his bed in a diagonal axis and obviously in deep sleep, looking relaxed and breathing deeply.

John inwardly rolled his eyes and sighted.

When he switched of the stereo he realized that Sherlock had used his suggestion to try to free his mind from distracting thoughts by concentrating on music, but the subtle euphonious tones weren't what he had needed. He had needed all consuming rhythms that swept away conscious thoughts and John wondered why he hadn't turned to heavy metal.

Glad that his friend was resting peacefully he returned to his laptop.


End file.
